


To Say it, and Mean it too

by Ashtree11



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, as per a commenter's request :3, seteth get's a father's day fic too, sorry it's late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:48:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24901834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashtree11/pseuds/Ashtree11
Summary: Seteth has ignored yet also dreaded the holiday, let alone felt the desire to celebrate. And for years it seemed that perhaps Flayn understood why they mustn't indulge in the tradition of commemorating fathers. But this year was different.A requested Father's Day fic for Seteth and Flayn
Relationships: Flayn & Seteth (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	To Say it, and Mean it too

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty! So as the summary says, this was requested by a commenter in my father's day fic with Jeralt. I've never written Seteth or Flayn up until this point so this was a bit of an exercise for me. I hope that I've done them justice, despite how short this fic is

To Say it, and Mean it too

The monastery clock tower chimed it’s familiar tune, bringing a nostalgic smile to Seteth’s lips. To this day, he hasn’t learned the origin of the catchy tune. He supposed that he could ask Rhea , but listening to it every day has become commonplace enough to the point that the inquiry leaves his mind as quickly as it entered.

He set down his quill and reached over for the tea cup. He sipped at the lukewarm blend just as a knock came at his office door.

“Yes?” he called out. A familiar head of green poked inside in response. “Ah, Flayn! What can I do for you?”

The girl only grinned conspiringly and slipped inside, closing the door with a soft click. She bounded closer to his desk with a noticeable spring in her step and her hands suspiciously hidden behind her back. “Do you know what day it is today?” she asked him.

He furrowed his brows. It was the 21st of the Garland Moon, wasn’t it? He scoured his memory for any appointments or special occasions that may have been scheduled for either the monastery or quality time with Flayn. But he came up short on both fronts. “I’m sorry, Flayn, I’m afraid I don’t recall anything scheduled for today.”

She shook her head goodnaturedly, her grin unwavering. “That’s not surprising at all. But that’s okay.” And with that she brought her hands out from behind her back and held out a neatly wrapped present.

Seteth raised a confused brow, but was smiling nonetheless. “And what might this be?” he chuckled.

Suddenly Flayn’s beaming grin turned sheepish. Then melancholic. “It’s the holiday for fathers today—”

His fingers curled reflexively, and his breath hitched in momentary panic as his eyes darted towards the door. Though it was closed, he hardly felt safe. “Flayn,” he warned.

“And I  _ know _ that you think it’s risky and unnecessary. But seeing how excited some of the people here are towards it... I want to know what that feels like. So please, just for today?”

Protests rushed to the forefront of Seteth’s mind, and words of disagreement and regretful apologies for needing to refuse the present were on the tip of his tongue. He’s always been aware of what the holiday entailed and actively abstained from celebrating to the point that it was barely a passing thought. Though his own avoidance didn’t spare him from seeing the clear disappointment in his daughter’s eyes once the holiday passed over his attention.

He hated to see her crestfallen expression. But he knew why it must be so, he had hoped that she would understand over time as well. 

Though it seems that this year she had other ideas. Once more he glanced over at the closed door, irrationally imagining a horde of eavesdroppers waiting on the other side. Mr. Reigan was a clear image in his mind; a clever young man with a dangerous inquisitive nature and streak for curiosity that will surely get him into trouble one of these days. 

Years of hiding and secrecy would be rendered moot within seconds if they were caught; the safety he worked so hard to ensure for his daughter made useless in a blink of an eye.

But his gaze fell on the gift and its cute pink bow that secured the pastel green wrapping. It was long and rectangular, not lending much to the imagination yet still piquing his curiosity. He looked up at his daughter once more and was met with her insistent stare and determined pout. He smiled fondly at the sight in spite of his ever present paranoia.

And so, with shaking fingers, Seteth took the present, carefully untied the ribbon, and tore into the paper wrapping.

Supple leather brushed beneath his fingertips. It was a box with a simple brass latch. He gave another curious look to Flayn, whose excited smile had returned.

Opening the leather box, Seteth was met with an assortment of owl feather quills and fresh wells of ink. 

“I noticed that you’ve been working on your stories a lot lately, and that you don’t change out your quills unless they are practically falling apart,” Flynn started to explain. “The Professor helped me gather the feathers. She surprisingly has quite a collection of them.”

He was hardly listening. Instead he traced a finger delicately over the soft feathers, admiring the shine of the metal writing tips. He lifted one out of the case, holding it up to the sunlight pouring in from his singular window. The fluffy white speckled with chocolate browns illuminated before his eyes. Twirling the stem in his fingers assured that the feathers would be sturdy quills, ready to withstand his rather intense writing habits. 

Warmth blossomed within his chest, filling his heart so full to the point of feeling his throat tighten.

“Do you like them?” Flayn asked, watching her father’s expression anxiously.

He inhaled deep and closed his eyes to stave off the gathering mist there. Then he cleared his throat and looked at his daughter. “Yes. Yes, I like them very much,” he said, glad that at least his voice was steady.

He frowned though, and shook his head. Those words weren’t strong enough. “No...” He paused, weighing his next words carefully. 

He shouldn’t indulge in it. But Goddess damn his soul for eternity, it was only for one day. “Thank you... Cethleann. I love them. I will use them every day.”

At the sound of her real name, Flayn rushed to hug him. He set the box aside and embraced her in turn.

She buried her face into the crook of his neck and murmured, “Happy Father’s Day.”

To which he placed a kiss on her temple. “Thank you,” he said again. So many things he wanted to say, so many things that he had to stifle—to trade away in exchange for safety.

Before he knew it, Flayn pulled away and smoothed out her dress. “As overbearing as you can be, Father—”

Seteth grimaced, recalling their earlier conversations regarding his habitual meddling in her personal affairs.

“I’m glad that a day like this exists so that I can show my appreciation for what you’ve done for me.” Her eyes fell to the floor, glazed with longing. “I was hoping that maybe we could have tea together later, but I see that you’re busy.”

Seteth glanced at his desk, taking in the documents that needed reading and drafts that needed proofreading he had arranged in neat piles. There was a lot to do, as was expected when he was the Archbishop’s right hand man. But he didn’t feel the sense of urgency to finish said tasks.

“The afternoon is still young. I believe that I can spare some time for an occasion such as today,” he decided, giving her a warm smile.

“Truly?” she said, eyes glowing.

The sight alone was enough to further cement his decision. Yes, his work can wait.

“Of course.”

And the two left the office, feeling lighter than either of them have been in a long time as the burden of their secret was pushed to the back of their minds. Even if it was temporary.

**Author's Note:**

> as always you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Ashtree111)


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